


The Loyal Second

by Kajune



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Gen, One Shot, The Witcher 2 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-16 17:40:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29579721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kajune/pseuds/Kajune
Summary: Death seemed to be the only next step in Ciaran aep Easnillien's life. He didn't care how it came and he didn't really fear it. All Ciaran could think about, all he could care about was Iorveth's safety.
Kudos: 4





	The Loyal Second

There were many men who held a grudge against Iorveth. It was enough to make these same men, and their friends, hate every other elf as well. No elf would bear the weight of their grudge more strongly, however, than the very elf who served Iorveth as second in command. 

It was a mere two years ago, closer to three perhaps, when Ciaran aep Easnillien took control over Iorveth's entire Scoia'tael unit to carry out their usual plans in the absence of their leader, who had fallen to a near-fatal injury to the eye. It was during this time the enemies - and famed hunters of the Scoia'tael, the Blue Stripes - learned of Ciaran and his exceptional rank.

At the time, many of these enemies thought Iorveth had died and quickly turned their attention to capturing, torturing and murdering Ciaran. He'd survived, obviously, long enough for Iorveth to recover and seek revenge against those whom had forgotten how dangerous the Scoia'tael Commander was. Only Vernon Roche proved capable of withstanding this period of terror. 

Nevertheless, the humans continued to target Ciaran. It was not by their efforts, and only by sheer luck, that Ciaran fell into enemy hands eventually. To Ciaran, it had been the mistake of trusting a human that put him in this mess. The infamous Kingslayer said he was no human, but the fact he'd once been a human was enough to sour Ciaran's opinion of the entire race to incredibly low levels. 

The treatment he received on board Flotsam's prison barge did little to endear him to humans, for once they had Ciaran in chains, few of the men with grudges were willing to pass up the chance to beat Ciaran bloody. Men decorated in uniform were the only ones allowed on board the floating prison, but it was usually they who hated Iorveth the most, at least within this wretched town. 

Ciaran suffered through continuous pain, not simply because the guardsmen knew how to punch or kick, but because he'd barely healed from the wound inflicted by the Kingslayer. The wound had been fatal, and what the guards who had found his prone form done to keep him away from death's door had barely stopped the pain, nor the rage and the fear Ciaran felt in his heart. 

Made sense, for the guards did not save Ciaran out of kindness, but to capture him and be rewarded for coming home with such a prize, and Ciaran was, judging by the commentary made upon his presentation to Bernard Loredo, a lovely prize. 

Potential bait for Iorveth, even, Loredo had suggested. Ciaran cringed every time he thought of his Commander, of the potential dangers he now faced and completely unaware of it. Iorveth had trusted the Kingslayer to be a loyal and obedient ally. Iorveth would not anticipate the Kingslayer's attempt to back stab him. Too trusting, Ciaran thought, which was weird since Iorveth was slow to trust and slower to let his guard down. 

Ciaran wondered what had made Iorveth a gentler person. His pain-addled mind drifted to the famed Virgin of Aedirn. Another human had won Iorveth's trust and Ciaran, the ever-loyal second, feared she too would betray Iorveth one day. 

Death seemed to be the only next step in Ciaran's life. He didn't care how it came and he didn't really fear it. All Ciaran could think about, all he could care about, as the guards unleashed their grudges against Iorveth onto him with little care for his durability, was Iorveth's safety. 

The thought that his capture meant he could do little to ensure Iorveth was safe hurt more than anything the guards were throwing at him. He did not flinch and he did not mind the hits and shouts, the kicks and threats. Ciaran did not care about the blood that pooled out of him, the ache and stinging from his wounds and bound wrists. 

He thought only of Iorveth. 

When two humans eventually showed up and gave him relief from his pain, Ciaran thought lowly of them. He did not (could not) trust them one bit, and he grimly believed the healing to be an invite for more pain. He sneered when the two humans asked about Iorveth and the Kingslayer. He barked insults when he realized one of the humans had the same Witcher-yellow eyes as the Kingslayer. 

The two humans did their best to placate the irate Ciaran. It took the Witcher promising to let Iorveth know of the Kingslayer's betrayal for Ciaran to lower his defenses, to trust even for a little, because  _Iorveth's safety mattered_ and his pride didn't. The Witcher swore on top of his promise that no matter what happened to Ciaran, the Witcher would ensure the Kingslayer wouldn't be able to harm Iorveth. 

Ciaran bid them farewell, more thankful than he'd like to admit for receiving a chance to ensure Iorveth's survival. He knew better than anyone that Iorveth was strong, infamously difficult to kill, but this reputation could not stop the need for certainty. As Iorveth's second, Ciaran needed to always make sure the Commander lived, and lived free. 

The guards returned to their usual posts outside his cell once the two humans had left. Their smiles promised further torment. For the first time since his imprisonment, Ciaran felt he could smile right back. 

He'd done his job. He welcomed death. 

* * *

Iorveth cursed the Witcher. 

It wasn't that the Witcher was  _wrong_ to try and save the elven women. Too many of his kind had suffered under petty cruelty of humans, to the point Iorveth had come to accept it as a way of things. To perform daring rescues for civilian nonhumans had ceased to be productive at this point, but as he watched the Witcher storm the burning building, Iorveth thought maybe he'd grown too cynical. 

When he turned and saw captured Scoia'tael being brought up from below deck, Iorveth remembered himself. This "mad" plan to take an entire prison barge and sail it all the way to Aedirn had been concocted for a very specific purpose, at first. 

The day Iorveth heard reports of the slaughter of his second's unit, Iorveth had felt despair. The day the Witcher, Geralt of Rivia, had revealed his second's survival, Iorveth had felt joy. 

It was enough to know there was a chance to rescue his second, Ciaran aep Easnillien, for Iorveth to set his sights on the heavily-guarded prison barge. He'd broken in and broken out of larger prisons, some right under Roche's nose (to the man's eternal chagrin), and the hope of rescuing Ciaran was high. 

Iorveth ordered one of his men to keep an eye out for Loredo in case of reinforcements, and ran into the lower deck in search of Ciaran's cell. It took a while to find a door at the back, a room that had a single occupant, judging by the lone chained figure Iorveth could see through the window. 

_Ciaran._

With mighty force that had earned Iorveth a lot of terrified looks, Iorveth broke the door open and rushed inside. There was  _a lot_ of blood on the floor, the figure sitting in the middle of the room was covered in bruises and cuts. Worse, Iorveth thought, he did not see movement. 

Iorveth went on his knees and leaned forward, carefully, his fingers brushing the elf's face. A stir, then familiar eyes looked up to meet Iorveth's one. It was a long awaited reunion that brought smiles to both their faces. Ciaran's face had clearly been beaten badly, and as much as Iorveth mourned the loss of his own beauty, he resented the theft of a friend's beauty more. 

For a moment, Iorveth fantasized about paying Loredo's men a delightfully long and agonizing (just) punishment. He nearly missed the words Ciaran uttered with utmost relief. 

"You're safe," a beat. "Finally."

Ciaran's head slumped forward. Not another stir followed, nor a twitch. Iorveth saw no movement on his chest, no sign of breath, not a whisper of sound. 

A sense of horror fell upon the Scoia'tael Commander in that instant. 

He did not hear himself as he lurched forward, clutching onto what remained of his beloved second. Evidently, he had cried out, for several elves showed up at the door and stood still, witnessing Iorveth grieve over the loss of a friend. A childhood friend. The last one left. 

With tears staining his cheeks and some blood staining his clothes, Iorveth mourned what he would later hope was the last loss he'd ever have to endure. By the time the other Scoia'tael dared to remove his fierce grip on Ciaran so they could properly lay the second down, not leave his body held up by crude chains, Iorveth had gone quiet. 

A look of shock mixed with wonder crossed the Scoia'tael Commander's face when he realized Ciaran, now laying flat on the floor, had died with a smile on his face. He had died feeling  _content_ . Gratitude immediately filled Iorveth's heart, knowing through years of friendship that Ciaran had found contentment because he had saved Iorveth's life, he had done what he enjoyed doing most. 

One hand tenderly brushed Ciaran aep Easnillien's cheek, and its owner whispered words filled with affection and a final farewell. 

"Thank you...for everything."

* * *


End file.
